Illumination
by POIJane
Summary: This is how it could have gone...


She was unhappy, to say the least, at Daddy's last-minute mandate to attend this party. She had plans with a few of her college friends and did not appreciate being dragged into his power games. As she got ready, her hair swept up into a French twist, her makeup dramatic and flawless, she poured herself into a little black dress, cursing her fate. The message had finally sunk in; her life was not and never had been her own. At twenty-two, her life was filled with Cleaner training, Centre business and politics, when all she wanted was a night to remember who she'd been just a year ago, but it was clear to her now that Daddy had every intention of stripping normality from her forever.

Watered down drinks, bad music, and boring old men with wandering hands, Dante had never addressed this particular circle of hell. And to illustrate his lack of give a damn, Daddy had left her to fend for herself with a warning to "play nice" with the ass-grabbing, douche bag pervs he called friends. Kiss-assery was not in her wheelhouse, and she would soon begin to inform every dirty old man in the room that their visions of late-night delight would happen the twelfth of Never. In the meantime, she smiled like a snarling dog and tried to keep a piece of furniture between herself and the vultures.

It was nearing midnight and the room had thinned out significantly. Parker sat alone on a sofa, nursing a martini. She had asked the bartender to fill a Big Gulp for her to sip on, but he had given her a poisonous look to rival one of her own and she decided in that moment to use him for Ice Queen practice. By the time her father stumbled over to collect her (he had left the party, and when the driver politely inquired about her, Mr. Parker demanded the man turn around and he made his way back over to her as if he had never left) she was just getting warmed up and it irked her that he had chosen that moment to leave.

The ride home was made in stony silence. She stared out her window, desperate for a cigarette, but mindful of her father's disdain of the habit—which only made her want one all the more, because it would irk him. Sometimes negative attention was better than none at all, she had come to realize some years ago and made it her mission to raise hell whenever she could. But tonight her father was inebriated, an event she had rarely witnessed in her life, and that made her uneasy. Something had or was upsetting him and not for the first time, she wished he would let her in.

He stumbled as he climbed out of the limo, the driver steadying the older man until she could get around the car to help him into the house. Several times she nearly toppled over because his bulk leaned heavily against her small frame. She managed to manhandle him up the stairs and into his bedroom, shoving him onto the bed in annoyance. Eyeing him as she got her breath back, she pushed down her disgust for him in this state.

As she turned to leave, he caught her hand. "I've missed you so much, Catherine."

"What," she breathed, stunned. He never mentioned her mother, unless he was using his dead wife to manipulate his daughter.

"Why did you do this to us? Why couldn't you let it go?" He pulled her onto the bed beside him, throwing his arms around her as he blubbered incoherently. "I loved you the best I could."

Parker was frozen with shock, unable to form even a coherent thought as her father wept openly onto her bare shoulder. She tensed as he wrapped his big hands around her upper arms, looking at her through bloodshot eyes, yet seeing another woman. Cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her forehead, cheeks, the tip of her nose, whispering "I love you, Cath" over and over before moving in to kiss her lips.

"Daddy!" She cried out, horrified and heartbroken in turns, her hands flat on his chest to hold him off.

"A-Angel," he stammered, pulling away from her, jerking his hands away. "What are you going in here?"

"You had a little too much to drink. I was just helping you to bed. Are you okay by yourself now?" Even her voice was eerily identical to her mother's, only huskier.

"Yes, yes, just fine."

"Good night."

"You too." He looked around in confusion. "Angel?"

Stopping at the door, keeping her back to him so he couldn't see the tears in her eyes, she asked, "Yeah, Daddy?"

"You were wonderful tonight."

"You too, Daddy." Her voice was empty, her heart aching for him, for herself, for all that they had lost.

For the first time in years, she cried herself to sleep.

The following day, and every day thereafter, she stood hard as a stone before the eyes of the world, her tongue like lashes from a bullwhip.

Deep down, she was forced to acknowledge her worst fear, a niggling voice that whispered insidiously, perpetuating the doubt she'd secretly held all along. Her mother wasn't really sick, and if she wasn't sick, maybe she hadn't killed herself. And if she hadn't killed herself, she was murdered. And if she was murdered, then the one person who had reached the end of their rope with her backtalk, her refusal to wear her wedding ring, the Grand Canyon-sized line in the sand she had drawn with her activities, was da—

*The End*


End file.
